Chapter 10
GAVIN
Being a good guy sucked sometimes. Like when Gavin had to acknowledge his past mistakes and the fact that he was probably going to screw up a whole lot in the future. But here he was, genuinely trying.
What did he get for that? Raisinets from Molly.
He’d take it, since it was a whole lot better than nothing. “Dad?” Kellan whispered, bent over as he made his way
down the empty row of the movie theater to Gavin. “What’s up?” Gavin whispered back.
Kellan stooped lower on his approach, which was silly
given that there wasn’t anyone behind them. “Can I use the rest of my money for Skittles?”
To teach money management, Gavin had given both his sons a budget of spending for their outing in return for them wiping down the baseboards upstairs at the house.
Not that he needed to pat himself on the back, but look at him being a master at the whole dad thing. Teaching money management, how to scrub baseboards, and not once had anyone had to go to urgent care the whole time Rachel was away.
Next parenting level mastered.
He wasn’t getting cocky, he’d just finally gotten the hang of this dad gig—if he said so himself.
“What happened to the candy you already bought?” Gavin whispered as the movie flickered in the background.
“I”—Kellan leaned his face right up to Gavin’s—“Ate. It.”
“If I give you money for Skittles, will you get Milk Duds for me?” Gavin asked, Kellan’s face still pressed near his.
Kellan nodded sagely, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “It will be my quest.”
Gavin grinned. He loved this kid. Kellan had a personality bigger than the mountains outside of Denver.
Gavin should give him a noogie, but that might cause a scene. Instead, as the superhero guy tossed a Buick into a wall of glass on the screen, Gavin reached for his wallet and took out a twenty, handing it over. “Come right back.”
“I get to go by myself?” Kellan asked, clearly surprised.
But the concession stand was right outside the door, so Gavin trusted Kellan to make the purchase.
He and Rachel had been working on building up their confidence and letting them get the feel for life skills.
Small steps to things they needed to do as teenagers and adults.
Like, for instance, buying Milk Duds for their dad while he watched a really bad movie.
“Bring me change,” Gavin said seriously, because otherwise Kellan would buy a whole boatload of other candy, too.
Kellan frowned. “C’mon Dad.”
“Change,” Gavin said as Kellan headed toward the exit. “And make good choices.”
Gavin resettled in his recliner, basking in the glory of fatherhood mastery, when he felt the weight of Molly’s stare heavier than the pull of Hollywood’s car chase.
He turned in her direction.
She was blinking at him with big ol’ owl eyes.
“What?” he asked, unable to stop himself from squirming under the scrutiny of a parent who clearly had more experience than he did.
“Nothing.” Molly shook her head, dark curls bobbing.
A squeal of tires echoed across the screams of the bystanders—in the movie—and just as quick as all of that, he was questioning his parenting choices.
“Did I just do something I’m going to regret?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The door with a little window. A little window where he could see Kellan waiting in line at the concessions stand.
“Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder just a smidge. “I do regrettable things all the time. Ask my kid, he’s got lots of opinions about this and a list.”
No, he was confident in his parental choices. “It’s good.
He’s good.”
Molly didn’t seem so sure.
Which made him question himself further. “I’d like to think I know what I’m doing.”
“How’s that working out for you?” She did the slow blink thing again.
“Seriously, if you have something to say, just spill it.” He paused, checking on Kellan once more. Still good. Still alive. Then back to the movie. Still just as bad as before. “Actually, don’t. I don’t need help. It’s all under control.”
She did a snort thing that was equal parts adorable and unnerving.
“Are you at least going to share your Milk Duds with me?” she asked all innocently.
He nodded as Kellan accepted the Milk Duds and Skittles before handing over the cash.
Gavin let out a breath, reassured that Kellan was making the approved purchases and not getting into some guy’s van down by the river for the promise of Starbursts.
“Since you shared your raisins, I believe I have to.”
Gavin didn’t mind sharing. Actually, he’d gotten so used to it over time that he over ordered for himself even when it was just him.
He’d always been the type of person who needed to be paired up. Even when it became clear the pairing wasn’t leading to anything permanent, he wanted—no, he needed—to have a person to lean on.
He was, of course, happy to return the favor for them.
But then he thought he’d met that special permanent person people always talked about… Dakota. He’d even convinced himself he could fall in love with her.
He didn’t. So Dakota left, and he didn’t blame her,
because he felt the relief, too, once things were over.
Clarity came with Dakota’s departure—he needed a solid dose of figuring himself out before he attempted another relationship. And that’s why he decided to take some time and figure out exactly what he wanted out of life. A relationship diet, of sorts.
His ex, Rachel, was now happily married. But she’d spent years content to putter through all life’s difficulties without a partner, figuring things out for herself. It had worked for her. So he figured he’d give it a shot, too.
Kellan returned to the dark theater with all his limbs still attached, Skittles, Milk Duds, change, and a new confidence that would do him well as he grew older.
Still, Gavin kept one eye on the boys, and the other on the show after everyone resettled. The flick was predictable beyond belief.
Lots of car chasing, and the ensuing blowing-up of said cars, should’ve held the audience’s attention. But not the pretty woman seated beside him.
The skin along his left side prickled again. He didn’t need to turn to see that Molly stole another glance his way. Not obviously so. She wouldn’t be obvious about it.
But Gavin had caught the quick looks Molly tossed his way since the movie had started. She kept looking at him like she didn’t know what to do with him.
Join the club, Molly.
He probably should’ve kept his mouth sealed shut instead of flapping on about all his screw-ups before the show. Those fuck ups had been many and varied throughout his lifetime, but that didn’t mean he needed to atone for them. Not to her.
He’d stopped worrying about what others thought of him a long time ago.
But Molly? Molly was different. She’d always been the one who made him uncomfortable because of the way she could look at a guy and seemed to see straight through to his soul. Like with the whole owl eye blinking thing. He shivered internally.
She clearly didn’t like what she saw in Gavin.
So, for most of his time spent in her presence, he’d always avoided her. Can’t blame someone for going with the simple route, right?
Until now.
Now, it seemed he didn’t want to stay away. She appeared to be his over-the-counter, way-too-available current drug of choice. The past few times they’d shared the same air, he’d wanted more. And that was not easy.
He could try to tell himself that this was only the result of his relationship fast.
Like the time he went paleo and gave up carbs. Then, toward the end, he said, “Fuck it, any carb is fine.”
Even those knock-off toaster tarts that were not up to his standards. On that note, he tossed back a caramel and chocolate Milk Dud.
Deep down, he knew Molly wasn’t a knock-off toaster tart. Molly was tiramisu or cannoli or cherry strudel. Yes, definitely cherry strudel. The kind of thing a man shouldn’t crave at all times of the day—it just wasn’t healthy. And yet?
Cherry strudel.
Which meant he needed to stay the hell away from her.
Because he was serious about the relationship diet thing.
Molly cleared her throat and shifted again. She’d tucked
her legs up underneath herself as she situated herself for the show. The position did not look comfortable but, then again, his legs were too tall to even consider anything like that. What did he know?
“Are you okay?” Gavin whispered, moving his body just a hair toward her. He offered her a Milk Dud.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she whispered back, holding out her hand so he could pour some into her palm.
“Because you keep making noises in your throat and looking at me.” He trained his eyes straight ahead as he spoke.
“I don’t want to like you,” she whispered so only he could hear.
This declaration was not a surprise to him. He lived in a business world where many people didn’t want to like him. Most of them succeeded. That was absolutely fine.
“Okay,” he said, conceding that he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
“Okay?” She sounded appalled.
He turned so he could see her. “It’s fine. You don’t have to like me.”
She scowled—adorable little lines forming between her eyebrows. “You’re making it hard.”
“How so?” He shouldn’t have—he really shouldn’t have—but he leaned closer to her, letting the floral scent of all things Molly invade his senses.
“You bought me candy.” She held up the offending box of chocolate-coated raisins. “And you shared yours.”
“You just said before the movie started you wanted me to be nice.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Now you want me to be a dick?”
She nodded, again the curls bobbing and begging to be touched. “Yeah, it’d make things easier.”
“Molly?” He said her name with a sigh. “What?”
“I’m trying to be a good example for my kids.” This was true. He wanted them to grow up to be upstanding men who treated others well—since they were going to be the ones selecting his retirement home someday.
She huffed, did the throat noise thing again, and held out her hand for more Duds.